


Instinctual

by Shamione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Mates, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Scents & Smells, Senses, Sentinel Senses, True Mates, Veela (Harry Potter), Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29265450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione
Summary: Draco Malfoy felt uncomfortable.And not because he was standing in the too-crowded Malfoy Manor ballroom celebrating his birthday. No, the itch down his spine was something different. Something more primal.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 50
Collections: Love Fest 2021, Rare Pairs RHM Read for LoveFest





	Instinctual

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts).



> Written for #lovefest2021. It's my first Druna and my first creature fic, so I really hope you enjoy it! I had fun writing it, playing with the senses. 🖤
> 
> #LF2021 #TeamVenus

Draco Malfoy felt uncomfortable.

And not because he was standing in the too-crowded Malfoy Manor ballroom celebrating his birthday. No, the itch down his spine was something different. Something more primal.

He'd turned twenty-five six days back, and with it turned into… _something_. Bathed in sweat, he had awoken with a jagged snarl at 3:43 a.m. - the precise moment his mother had given birth so many years before. And frankly, the subsequent screeching and accidental shredding of his bedding had been rather embarrassing.

But how else would one react when waking up with talons, fangs, and _fucking feathers_?

Veela. Draco Lucius Malfoy was a fucking _Veela_.

All those years of calling Pansy and Granger insufferable harpies, and _he_ was the actual fucking harpy. And not one person in his family had thought to inform him of even the faintest possibility of his hidden heritage. But why would they? Sharing such information would have degraded any claim they'd had at purity.

Evidently, his mother had been elated that her baby boy had inherited the Malfoy family trait. So much so that she refused to cancel his birthday party the following weekend. Whatever shoddy logic that made, Draco wasn't sure.

Nevertheless, he'd spent most of his week trying to tame his talons and fangs for the occasion. The crawling of his skin had grown moderately more barrable, as barrable as enduring the burning rage that threatened to bust free more moments than not.

But tonight, being awake, being here, was absolutely unbearable. Nothing could have prepared Draco for this. This ballroom was stifling. His bloody robes were a sauna against his skin, making beads of sweat drop down his back in droves. The food tasted awful. The music was so loud it pounded against his heart, causing him to snarl at more guests than he greeted. And nearly every woman at the party hadn't been able to take their eyes off him.

Now, usually, that wouldn't be so bad. A confident, attractive young man catching every lady's attention? Every bloke's dream, right? Not tonight. Even shaking hands with Pansy's harp... _hag_ of a mother had made him want to retch.

The only thing good about the evening was that the room smelled so sweet it made his mouth water. So much so that he could hardly keep his newly minted fangs from slipping free of their flesh bindings.

Draco imagined if someone could smell of both springtime rain and winter moonlight on snow, this was it. It was peaceful, though the scent called to him somewhere deep within his soul. Igniting him. Every time it floated through the air, he heard himself purr. Blaise had already shoved him twice to quell the sound before people began to take notice.

Something was here. Something Draco couldn't explain even if he wanted to. It felt as though his heart might explode from his chest, tethered to a string that tried desperately to pull him toward something that was instinctively _his_.

But everywhere he turned, he found only disappointment. Women who wore simpers that made his skin crawl. Men who wore sneers that made him sick. Cologne and perfume that invaded his nostrils, occasionally drowning out the sweet scent in the air.

Discomfort lingered in his bones as the night rolled on, and near ten o'clock, the music slowly began to wane. Lights dimmed softly as the stage toward the head of the room alighted, his mother standing radiantly at the center.

Draco groaned as a microphone appeared before her.

"Good evening, everyone," Narcissa began, raising her champagne flute into the air. The crowd mimicked her, and Draco groaned again. "We would like to thank you for coming to celebrate the birth of my one and only beautiful child."

Draco sagged his shoulders in parental embarrassment as the crowd sang, "here, here."

"I won't make this speech long, but to my son, my heart, your life is going to change from this day forward. The gods have plans for you, and I cannot wait to watch you fulfill them. Happy birthday, sweetheart."

The broad smile on his face managed to dance half of one across his own as she raised her glass to him. But it faltered when the crowd did the same, hundreds of eyes turning toward him eagerly. He merely nodded, hoisting his untouched flute into the air as everyone clapped and the music roared back to life.

Turning to Blaise with a deepening grimace, he shoved the flute into his best mate's hand. "I'm going out for air."

Blaise merely nodded as Draco pushed passed, heading for one of the several open doors. The cool rush of air that forced against his sweat-soaked forehead washed a deep relief into his bones as he wandered outside.

It wasn't cold by any means, but the early-summer breeze was as much of a saving grace as the soft sounds of people murmuring on the balcony. He merely nodded to those that chose to acknowledge him, taking the stairs into the depths of his mother's second pride and joy: her gardens.

But he wasn't four steps from the Manor before a vision halted him in his tracks by a sight that made his heart thud against its cage.

Standing hunched over with her nose centimeters from one of his Mother's hydrangeas was none other than Luna Lovegood. She wore some inane frock, shimmering polka dots that caught the moon's rays just right, but Draco couldn't see past the vision of _her_.

He was absolutely captivated. How he hadn't noticed Luna Lovegood before that evening was beyond him as he stood rooted to the spot, lips slightly separated, taking in the beauty of her pearlescent skin bathed in moonlight. How her hair, pulled back from her face and adorned with more flowers than the garden itself, glistened. How her smile, so purely radiant, seemed to seep right through the shell he'd erected around his heart long ago.

How the melody of her voice sounded when she rose, turning slowly to him with a smile more beautiful, albeit a bit crooked, than any he'd ever seen.

"You found me."

"I…"

She smiled softly, taking a few steps forward that brought with it that fragrant, breathtaking aroma Draco had been clinging to all night. "You're ready now."

"I'm… what?"

"You're ready."

"For what?"

"Your mate," she purred, and Draco felt blood rush from his head further south.

 _Mate_. Draco let the word linger in the air between them as he took slow steps forward, closing the thin distance between them. He didn't want to believe it, but how could he not? That could be the only explanation why she smelled like divinity in human form. Why she appeared to glow just by existing.

"I have known we are mated from the moment I laid eyes upon you at the sorting ceremony."

"How… how could you have known? I didn't even know what I was until last weekend."

"You weren't ready to know then."

"And now I am…"

"Perhaps we should take a walk, Draco."

Chills danced across his skin at his name hummed with such a sweet melody. It took everything in him to merely nod dumbly and not let his claws or fangs free. Captivated, Draco held out his arm, as any gentleman would. But Luna simply laughed.

"That's likely not a very good idea with so many people around," she said dreamily. "Show me the gardens?"

She turned and began to wander away, and it wasn't until her scent started to fade that his body pulled him forward. It wasn't difficult to catch up, his single step the equivalent to two of her small frame. But when he did, he felt nerves thrust into his gut.

What could he say to someone who had been held captive in his dungeons during the war? Someone he likely had tormented at Hogwarts even if he couldn't remember each and every time. Someone who had known she was his mate even when he was a snot-nosed child.

"You needn't be so tense," she hummed as they passed through hedges into a quiet area of the garden, the only sounds of the fountain and the breeze through the hedges.

Draco could hardly find a voice to respond, muttering, "I'm not."

Her responding laugh was resplendent. "Even if you weren't connected, I could still feel the hesitation rolling from you in waves."

"Why -" he started, clearing the lump from this throat. "Why did you come tonight?"

"Oh, I've been here every year."

"What?" Draco questioned with actual shock, pausing in his steps.

Luna continued to stroll, stepping as if she was floating on air with her fingers laced behind her back. "Several times a year, actually."

"How did I not know?"

Draco wasn't asking about how he'd overlooked her presence in his home so often. But by the way that she paused her stride, turning back toward him slowly with an effortless smile on her face, he assumed she knew he meant more.

"Because," she mused, "You weren't ready."

"I still don't know that I am."

"No, perhaps not. But you're on your way."

Draco's eyes met her, and he felt like he wanted to both retch from nervousness and pull her into his arms and never let go. Searching her face, he found not hints of despair or anger, only a soft dream of what they could be.

"Lovegood, I… I should apol-"

"Why don't we just start with a dance?"

"A… a dance? There's no music..."

"We don't need music," she hummed, holding out her hand, her inviting smile never diminishing.

Moving felt impossible when her smile held him so captive, but he pushed forward further into that sweet scent. Shakily, and much more hesitantly than he ever imagined himself, he closed his hand around hers. And whatever bond it was that tarried between them seemed to seep deep into his soul as she stepped into him.

It felt… right. Her small hand in his, so soft and delicate. Her head laying against his chest, the rain-scented ashen ringlets sending shiver after shiver down his spine. The steady, even beat of her heart that appeared to be the only thing capable of calming whatever animal now lived inside of him.

It all felt _right_.


End file.
